


heaven forbid they look back

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Brainwashing, Corruption, F/F, Grimdark, Horror, Lovecraftian Monster(s), Mind Break, Mind Control, Rape, Sexual Slavery, Tentacles, cosmic horror, servitude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 12:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Angle and angel are typo'd often enough that the line between the two often blurs.





	heaven forbid they look back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoxyPop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoxyPop/gifts).

> Rose has discovered a knew power, a higher knowledge of reality and all that stretches beyond, gifted to her by a very generous... Benefactor. In return, her new extra dimensional sugar daddy has tasked her with spreading this gift to those closest to her. Rose takes to this and very thoroughly and vigorously spreads her new gift to her dear friend/sister/mom Roxy, her lovely crush/girlfriend/wife Kanaya, and/or her rival/fuckbuddy/kismesis Vriska. Feel free to go humanstuck or Earth C or whatever you like! Long as it involves Rose infecting one or more of these three girls with a horrendous eldritch virus that turns them into monsters just like her.

Vriska was, to put it bluntly, surprised by Rose Lalonde arriving at her doorstep.

The least of this surprise was due to the fact that Vriska lived in a castle in France with her aunt, far away from civilization, except for her neighbors, who lived about an hour away by car. And Rose Lalonde, by all accounts, lived in New York state, an entire ocean away. Vriska's surprise was painted plain on her face when she opened up the front door, cracking it open with a not inconsiderable amount of effort. She wasn't exactly ripped, but pushing open old creaky doors had left the shut-in with a surprising amount of resistant muscle upon her arms and legs.

"Rose...?" Vriska asked, narrowing her eye in suspicion, and then in anger. She brushed bleach-white hair out of her bad eye, a standard Serket intimidation tactic -- nobody ever liked looking the ugly thing except another Serket. The family's evil eye. And yet, Rose Lalonde only looked more intrigued.

The sun flew around Rose Lalonde like a halo, casting light around her in stark silhouette. It was 11 AM, for fucks sake, so Vriska's online classes hadn't started yet, nor had her aunt returned from her daily doings. In fact, her aunt wouldn't be back for quite some time, considering that she had some criminal affairs to attend to. She could try to pretend all she wanted that she wasn't part of the mob or whatever, but Vriska was a sly girl and a clever girl and good with lockpicks and too nosy for her own good. Blackmailing her own aunt was an easy way to get what she wanted. Even the most hardened of criminals couldn't handle hurting their own flesh and blood.

And, on some level, Aranea thought it was good practice, for when the girl came time to inherit her empire.

Vriska looked at Rose Lalonde, watching the way individual light beams cast like little needles away from her, the way that the sunlight filtered through the clouds during those halcyon spring days, when it's still a little bit winter and not quite March or April. She was struck by the immediate and powerful notion that she was looking at someone the way that the ancient Greeks would've looked at Zeus should he make himself manifest on the mortal plane. Of course, being Vriska, the thought didn't occur to her quite that eloquently, but the notion was the same. Crassness and crudeness was more her nature.

Rose Lalonde stepped forward. Or shuffled, or maybe glided, because the exact motion was hard to describe, in the faint, shimmering way that things get hazy around a dream. "What the fuck are you doing here, Lalonde?" Vriska asked (in French), only dimly aware that maybe Rose Lalonde might not know French. "And how do you know my address?"

She made a noise that wasn't dissimilar to laughter. It was comparable, in the way that lemonade was comparable to orange juice. A citrus brightness, orange and yellow lie at the heart of it, and yet, the experiences weren't quite the same. Lime juice and lemon juice were more comparable than lemon juice and orange juice, so that was approximately the scale of the difference of this peal of un-laughter. Why was it so hard to focus on Her?

Vriska didn't remember when Rose Lalonde responded, or when the two of them walked into the foyer. She had the distinct sensation of walking, the knowledge, the tension of the muscles in her legs indicating that, yes, motion had occurred, but the time wasn't there. The memories never got sent into storage. They passed by her, slipping through her fingers like sand through a sieve, leaving only a sense of slightly belated confusion. And then, there was a skip again, like someone had pressed the next scene button in a movie, and they were in her bedroom.

A sense of indignant frustration washed over her. "What the fuck is going on?" Vriska asked, for the eighth time, only receiving a response. Vriska heard the response, and couldn't formulate anything in return. Her room was in disarray -- not from the intrusion of the Rose Lalonde, but that was just the general state that Vriska's room existed in. Disarray. Everything was so disorderly. Blankets and underwear strewn about. A stick of deodorant lie toppled on her dresser, now straightened, placed upright, flush against the wall. Vriska's hands were on autopilot.

Orderly. Neat. For Her.

Vriska didn't even blink when Rose Lalonde lay down on her bed. She was about to say something, and then Vriska just replied "What?". And then Rose Lalonde would respond a couple of seconds after that, and Vriska let out a tiny squeak, the meekness unbecoming of her. Where was the spice? Vriska was wondering about herself the same thing, where it had gone, because it was like something was getting sucked out of her, overwhelmed. It felt like how she would imagine lifting an immense object would. Like that scene in Spider-Man: Homecoming, "Come on, Spiderman,", except she was failing under the immense pressure. By the time she finished cleaning her room, she was worn ragged. She felt like a washcloth that had just been wrung dry. Her arms ached and her knees hurt and her room was spotless, so much cleaner than before, so much _better_, clean so as to present an acceptable facade for Her.

Rose Lalonde beset herself with an agreeable scent, that tingled Vriska's nostrils as she obediently and then she was back in her bed, a palatial king-sized fit for the crime princess that she fancied herself. Nude, Vriska cozied up to the bed's new owner, her bright blue eye blank and glassy. Black veins crisscrossed her face, slowly spreading and throbbing out of her bad eye, the one degraded through genetics and ill luck, and for the first time in a long time, Vriska opened it up, and she saw.

Shapes and colors and sounds, a beauty that the world wasn't meant to know. She felt that pile of rubble on her back double in weight, pressing her down, stressing her to the floor, but there was an easy, obvious solution in mind here.

Giving up.

Being crushed.

Vriska liked to consider herself a defiant person. Testy, even. She liked to be in control of a situation, or at least, she thought she did, yet when push came to shove, she crumpled like a poorly built house of cards. Rose Lalonde's sweet words did all the cozying she needed. It was so convincing. Vriska was just acting in opposition to her inbuilt nature as a human, or something along those lines. Vriska was not built for anger and aggression. It was so tiring, so exhausting.

Her eyes fluttered, veins crisscrossing down her neck as they spiderwebbed further down her body, opening up her eye that much more, letting her see even better. There were so much of Rose Lalonde to take in, so many curves, no angles to behold. When Rose Lalonde's grabbed hold of Vriska, she didn't resist. It felt to her skin the way a compulsion feels in your brain, an intrusive thought given shape, penetrating her, going places nobody had been before.

Vriska didn't pretend that she wasn't bleeding. She was open and bare for Her. Such an injury would only be embarrassed to someone that had anything to hide, but she was free. Vriska felt all the curves and unangles invading her, slithering inside of her like her insides were full of snakes, and that wasn't so bad. Ichorous arteries made their way through her skin, and she felt herself embrace the feeling of inverting. No, don't worry, all of her organs and squishy parts remained as they were, but the black flooded into blue ink and her body began its inevitable metamorphosis. For someone like Rose Lalonde, this moment was just one of many along a visible line. For Vriska, this was her forever.

When Rose Lalonde's withdrew from Vriska, the sapphire-skinned girl(?) felt her mind hemorrhage through her soul, crawling on her arms and knees and legs towards Rose Lalonde. Rose Lalonde's tangled through what used to be hair, and Vriska bent down and partook, taking all of Rose Lalonde's into her everything. The taint was as virulent as ice-nine, not that such a reference would be understood by Vriska if it had popped to mind. But right now, her mind was a bit occupied by its present duty at nonexistence. It was working very hard at allowing itself to become a proper automaton for Her.

When Rose Lalonde finished, what was left of Vriska was unrecognizable -- mostly due to being impossible.

You could try to look closer if you wanted to. A tangle of blue and white on what was most likely a bed.

But heaven forbid they look back.


End file.
